


Live In My House, I'll Be Your Shelter

by nhasablog



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Tickle Fights, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhasablog/pseuds/nhasablog
Summary: This was the usual scene every morning. Sam cooking and Steve asking if he could help and Sam giving him some mundane and simple task only to make him feel less useless and burdensome. The realization made Steve pause briefly in his movements. When had they developed a routine?(Or, Steve keeps ending up in Sam’s apartment, and they’re both okay with it.)





	Live In My House, I'll Be Your Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> This can be interpreted as both pre-slash and just friendship. Whatever floats your boat! I tried to keep it pretty open for both assumptions. I hope you enjoy!

Steve had honest to god not planned on this becoming a regular thing, and due to the somewhat abrupt beginning his visits to Sam’s apartment had become a strict emergency situation where Steve either needed to hide from people who were trying to kill him, or hide from the Avengers when it all became too much. But somewhere along the way Steve had started staying over simply because Sam’s place was closer than the Avengers Tower, or because they had a breakfast date the next day so he might as well stick around, or because they were both feeling slightly too desperate for things they couldn’t have and needed each other’s company and lack of questions. It worked out pretty well.

But he hadn’t meant for it to happen. Some things just did without your permission.

Sam was already awake when Steve walked into the kitchen that morning. The sun was in its early stages of rising, and the room was still blue-tinted when Steve entered. For a brief moment Steve wished he could grab his notepad and draw the scene before him, but he figured Sam wouldn’t appreciate being his motif so early in the day, if ever, so he only cleared his throat to make his presence known. “Morning.”

Sam turned away from the frying pan to catch Steve’s eye, though he didn’t turn far enough and only managed to throw a glance on the wall. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “If you call someone sleeping till 7 a sleepyhead then you don’t wanna meet the others.” He meant the Avengers, but didn’t specify. He knew Sam would understand.

Sam’s laugh was cheerful, and if it weren’t for his slightly slumped figure Steve would suspect he’d had a full night’s sleep for once. “I mean, we’ve practically made it a competition of who wakes up first at this point, so it’s only right that I gloat.” He paused as he flipped the pancakes over. “Though I guess I should just be grateful that someone wakes up early. There’s nothing worse than having to wait around for people to wake up. You barely dare to breathe out of fear of waking them up. It’s excruciating.”

Steve, who had stopped in the doorway and was leaning against the wall, would have to agree. “Fortunately the Avengers Tower is gigantic and I can do whatever I want without disturbing a soul.”

“Fortunately my apartment is so small that not a lot of people choose to stay over.”

“Can’t imagine why, with your comfortable extra bed.”

Sam turned around fully now to point his spatula at him. “Shut it, Rogers, or I will kick you out next time you want to stick around.”

Steve grinned and held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. You know I don’t mind.” He, of all people, would never mind a lumpy bed. “Can I help?” he asked when Sam turned back to the pan.

Sam waved a hand around. “You can set the table or something. You know where everything is.”

This was the usual scene every morning. Sam cooking and Steve asking if he could help and Sam giving him some mundane and simple task only to make him feel less useless and burdensome. The realization made Steve pause briefly in his movements. When had they developed a routine?

“When do you have to be at work?” he asked instead as he grabbed two plates and walked with them to the table.

Sam hummed as he placed the last pancake on the plate. “I’m expected at 11.”

“Several hours left then.”

“You know me. I like taking advantage of the time I can get.”

They ate mainly in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Steve asked if Sam wanted to come by the Tower so they could sparr when he got off, since neither of them had gone for a run that morning, and Sam told him he would see. Steve didn’t ask what other plans Sam might be having, just like Sam didn’t ask why Steve didn’t sparr with an Avengers instead of him. Some things just didn’t need to be said aloud.

Steve knew that the dark circles under Sam’s eyes matched his own, and he knew that Sam’s slightly hunched shoulders mirrored his own posture, but neither of them brought up the fact that they’d both been tossing and turning half the night, and woken up from nightmare after nightmare the other half. It happened too often for it to be an interesting topic of conversation at this point.

“Do you want me to leave?” Steve asked later as they did the dishes (Steve washed, Sam dried).

Sam didn’t answer immediately. “Nah. I think I could use the company actually.”

Something in his voice made Steve glance toward him, but he was pointedly not looking in his direction. “I’ll stay then.”

Sam just nodded and finally looked up to grab the next plate, but made sure to not catch his eye.

Steve’s bad nights were sometimes accompanied by bad days, and while those were rarer now that he’d adjusted to things he could still remember them clearly, so he didn’t push Sam to talk and only vowed to try to make him feel safe at least. He knew a big part of his bad days consisted of him feeling as if some sort of danger was approaching and he had nowhere to hide. The best someone could do for him then was to make him believe that nothing bad was imminent. That nothing was after his head.

The only reason Steve didn’t sleep on Sam’s couch was because it was somehow even _worse_ than the extra bed, so when Sam insisted that _Captain fucking America shouldn’t sleep on a goddamn couch_ Steve didn’t protest. As they both curled up on either end of it, aimlessly watching some sort of comedy show on the TV, Steve felt a kind of comfort at the simplicity of it all. At the modest surroundings and the comfortable silence and the occasional laughter that was drawn out of either of them by the actors on the screen. It felt like he was back in his old life; a life without the crushing weight of the entire world sitting on his shoulders. It felt nice.

He glanced over at Sam, ready to share his thoughts, when he caught him already looking at him. “What?”

Sam opened his mouth. “How-” He cleared his throat and tried again. “How do you do it?”

Steve knew what he meant, and he wanted to tell him that he had absolutely no clue and that most days he felt like he wasn’t handling a single thing, but he decided on giving Sam a way out, because he knew that if Steve hadn’t looked up in that moment Sam wouldn’t have spoken up. “Do what?”

An inner battle visibly took place, and when Sam opened his mouth again just about anything could spill out. “Stand this crap of a show. It’s not even funny. Give me the remote.”

Steve did, and they ended up watching a documentary about whales before Sam had to leave, which meant that Steve had to leave. Some days you just didn’t want to talk about it, and Steve of all people knew that.

* * *

 

Steve ended up in Sam’s apartment again only a few days later, and this time he was the one with a heavy heart and a weary head. He knew Sam could tell the moment he opened the door, and when Steve asked if he could stay over he said yes in a heartbeat.

“I appreciate it,” Steve said as Sam closed the door behind him.

“Don’t even mention it, man.”

So Steve didn’t.

They ended up drinking, figuratively speaking. Steve couldn’t get drunk and Sam avoided drinking like this, so they both sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea each, sipping as the rain poured down outside. It was comforting, but Steve still felt heavy.

Steve watched a burst of lightning light up the sky temporarily with a fond smile. “Did you know I used to be terrified of thunder when I was a kid?” Steve asked, even though there was no way for Sam to have known that.

Sam swallowed a mouthful of tea. “Oh?”

“Not sure why, but each time I heard it I was afraid the world was ending. I usually spent every storm hiding in my mom’s bed, even when she wasn’t home.” He gripped his cup, but didn’t lift it. “It rained the day she died, and when I returned to the empty apartment for the first time the thunder had just started. I like to think that was her checking in on me.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but Steve didn’t expect him to anyway. Instead they sat in silence as Steve tried to picture his mother’s reaction to seeing him now. She would probably still fuss about his health even though it was physically impossible for him to get sick now.

“Isn’t it weird?” Sam suddenly asked, looking from the window to Steve. “To think that the thunder was Thor this entire time, I mean.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Weird doesn’t begin to cover it.”

* * *

 

The next time Steve found himself in Sam’s place it was in much higher spirits that he was fortunately not alone in having. Sam had practically beamed when Steve had shown up, and it had only taken approximately ten seconds before he was telling Steve about how good of a day he’d had, for once. Steve, who had no particular reason for his own cheerfulness, just listened with a grin.

They ended up playing cards, which turned into a bit of a competition and eventually a lighthearted shouting match when Sam insisted Steve was cheating.

“I never cheat,” Steve said in mock offense. “How dare you, Sam Wilson.”

“Don’t give me that crap, man,” Sam replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “No one could’ve won with that hand and not have cheated their way to it.”

Steve placed his cards on the coffee table for emphasis as he leaned closer where he was sitting on the couch. “How _dare_ you-” he repeated dramatically. “accuse me of something like _this_?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking it back.”

Steve felt a mischievousness that he hadn’t felt in years wash over him. “What if I make you take it back?”

“Good luck with that, oh great Captain America.”

Sam let out a yell when Steve pounced, and after that it was just laughter and tangled limbs and curse words that would make a sailor blush, and once Steve managed to pin Sam down, which really wasn’t too hard if he was being honest, whatever words Sam was trying to utter were replaced by clear and booming belly laughter.

Steve hadn’t tickled anyone since the 40s, so he felt a little rusty as he sought out his friend’s sensitive spots, but he realized quickly that his body must have some sort of muscle memory, because as Sam lay there giggling his hands kept going almost automatically; wiggling and squeezing and poking wherever. He almost felt nostalgic.

“Ah, shihihit!” Sam cried when Steve went for a particularly ticklish spot on his hip. “Stohohop it, come ohohon.”

Steve merely grinned and gave his hip another squeeze, and for a few minutes Steve’s fingers kept dancing over Sam’s body while Sam was struggling to escape, and their laughter echoed in an apartment that was usually rather quiet and empty, and by the time Steve backed off he knew Sam wasn’t mad.

“Do you take it back yet?” he asked as Sam gasped for air slightly too exaggeratedly.

“If it keeps you from doing that again, then sure.”

Steve felt satisfied with that, so they went back to playing, though each time Sam claimed that Steve was a cheat he only needed to send his friend a pointed look that he knew Sam could interpret easily. The comments didn’t stop, but at least Steve could retaliate in a way that left them both laughing again.

* * *

 

When Steve woke up the next day Sam wasn’t up yet, which was rare but not impossible. The sun was just rising, so Steve moved through the blue room toward the fridge, trying to decide if Sam would be okay with him touching his stuff or not. You’d think he’d know at this point, but he still sometimes felt as if he was overstaying his welcome.

Coffee. Sam probably wouldn’t mind him making coffee.

He was just pouring himself a cup when Sam walked into the room, and Steve handed him a cup without a word.

Sam shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Slept well?”

Sam made a sound in his throat. “Oh, man, do you know how long it’s been since I slept through the entire night?”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Seriously. I feel amazing. I feel like I could climb a mountain and come back down wanting to do it again or something.”

Steve knew the feeling. The mornings he woke up well rested were his favorites. “It’s the tickling, I’m sure. It tired you out.”

Sam scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Steve only grinned and took a sip of his drink. “Huh. I somehow managed to not completely mess this brew up.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sam said and moved toward the counter.

Steve had to leave just half an hour later, but he did so with Sam praising his coffee still ringing in his ears, and with the knowledge that he would be back soon. He always ended up going back.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://nhasablog.tumblr.com)


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